


War Between Gold and Iron

by hypnoscissorsghostnerd



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Asgard (Marvel), Courting Rituals, F/M, PWP, Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoscissorsghostnerd/pseuds/hypnoscissorsghostnerd
Summary: A great warrior of Veshuva rises from the westernmost planets from Asgard. Your father had sent you off to Asgard to be a mediator between the two worlds, only to be propositioned. However, Odin has agreed to allow both of the brothers to court the same woman. Whoever wins her over first gets the crown—and all of the perks to have have a fierce leader of unique warriors of a wife.
Relationships: Chris Hemsworth/Thor/Reader, Loki/Reader, Thor/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/Loki/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	1. Formal Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> I intend to make this quicker than some of the others, but we all know that I get carried away easily. Sorry for all of the random posts here and there, I’m planning to finish this before going back to some of my other stuff. Remember, if you have suggestions or want to see more of something, drop by my Tumblr @ hypnoscissorsghostnerd.tumblr.com !

Odin eyes the woman knelt before him. Not once has she raised her head since she had approached his throne.

She was clad in wolfskin, though she wore it with honor rather than pride. She carried herself humbly but with such an aura of power he could see why commoners avoided getting in her path. Golden streaks where the precious metal weaved into her armor shined through the pelt of her hunt. In fact, these were large wolves. He could see maybe just one fur pattern upon her back.

“Tell me,” he says. “What is the story of the pelt you carry?”

“It is a rite of passage, milord,” her voice was silky. Smooth. Confident. A voice gentle enough that the people would listen to, a voice stern enough to command an army.

“Tell me about this rite of passage,” he urges.

“There are giant wolves in our forests,” she continues proudly, but she still refused to raise her head. She knew her place in the presence of a lord, but not so much that she would feel ashamed to talk about her people. Her homeland. Her loyalty was clear. “Upon our 220th full moon, we are sent out to seek the wolf that chooses us first and with nothing but a loincloth and our wit. We shall return with the pelt.”

“Is this something you would change as ruler of your land?”

She hesitates, but her answer is loud and clear:

“It is the only time we kill.”

Wise. Clever. Values life. Values traditions.

What a great leader she would be...

_For Asgard._

“Please join us for our great fest tonight at our table,” he smiles. “And as our valued guest, I also have opened a guest room. Our maidens shall escort you.”

With a wave of his hand, three young women in thin dresses scattered about the kneeling warrior, all seemingly a little afraid, yet patient as they waited for her to rise.

Her head rose first, meeting the gaze of Odin himself before a small smile tugged at her lips. He noted that her canines were oddly sharper and visible as she smirked.

“Thank you, Allfather,” she speaks with respect before rising. She nods to the door to see her one warrior she had chosen as her escort to come with her. He was tall, lanky, and was covered head to toe in armor. Despite it, Odin could see the strange gleam of liquid silver in his eyes.

“Shall I accompany you, my lady?” The armored man offers her his hand. She places her hand delicately on his metal-clad hand and he follows the three young maidens out of the throne room.

As the warrior leaves, two figures emerges from the corners of the room. They only stop their approach until they are before the Allfather, just as the woman had stood moments ago.

“What do you think, my sons?” His question was more rhetorical, but his pride in finding such a suitable woman needed to be affirmed.

“I see she is a beautiful and powerful woman,” the larger son replied. His golden hair shone like the expensive metal, his bulk seemingly doubling in on itself as he folds his arms in front of his body.

“Arrogant,” the lankier son replies, his emerald eyes gleaming dangerously. “And hunting in nothing but a _loincloth_?”

“Do not think such perverted thoughts of a lady,” his brother chastises quickly.

“Enough petty bickering,” Odin groans, his eye meeting his sons before continuing. “Shall I arrange the marriage of Thor Odinsson and the lovely lady of—“

“No,” Loki interrupts, surprising himself and his brother. “I suppose it is unfair to give everything to the firstborn.”

Odin eyes him carefully before letting out a greedy chuckle.

“I see,” he simply says. “Do not think I cannot see through my own son’s whims.”

He thinks for a moment before sitting up straighter, leaning forward with an interesting gleam in his eye.

“Then I shall give this responsibility into your hands,” he states and the sons are dismissed.

* * *

Mishka stood at your door, facing it rather than facing inwards as you explored the large room that Odin had gracefully let you borrow during your visit.

The room was mainly marble and white with a great big fireplace to heat up the room during the chilly nights. A large bed that could easily fit three people stood with four posts and a canopy lined with gold. The ceiling was also laced with gold with cherubs and intricate designs that seemed to swirl like a cloud above your head. A window perched on the opposite side of your bed with massive white curtains drawn back. You swiftly go to the window and draw the curtains closed. They’re so thick they block out most of the sunlight, casting the golden room into shadows.

“Mishka,” you call and the guard snaps around in one fluid moment. His bright silver eyes settle on you, waiting with a soft gaze.

“You may take off your helmet. It is safe here.”

Upon your request, he takes his metallic hands to hold each side of his helmet before lifting it above his head, a mess of curls falling around his face as his golden eyes never leaves yours. Oh, how those curls have felt between your fingers. It is an urge you couldn’t fight back and you gently sweep away a stray curl from his face to behind his ear. A small smile tugs at his lips, but his pride swallows it back to a neutral, tight-lipped expression.

A knock at the door interrupts the intimate moment as your eyes snaps to the door. Mishka looks at you with curiosity before turning around to answer the door for you, blocking your body with his in case it was a trick.

Another young maiden flinches as she sees his towering his presence, though you can’t bring yourself to blame her. His gaze could be unsettling in the wrong circumstances.

“I-I am here to retrieve the lady,” she says, daring not to speak your name under his steely gaze. “For the welcoming feast?”

When Mishka attempts to lead you out, she bravely holds out a hand and you can feel his presence change quickly.

“She has been requested...alone?”

Her hesitance was unbearable for you to endure, so you side-step your brave guard and you gently push him away by placing a hand on his arm and letting him know you intend to pass. He gives under your gentle push as the maiden looked relieved to see you.

“Will you be...wearing that?” She squeaks. You look down at your garb and saw no issue with your armored skirt and tunic, draped with your wolfskin.

“Is it not appropriate?” You retort and she points behind you at a large wardrobe you had neglected to go through.

“We have some dresses if you’d like,” she said. “We can get you dressed in moments before the Allfather begins to fall impatient.”

You think about it for a moment, looking up at Mishka, who only stared back with confusion.

“We are guests at their home,” you reassure him as you side-step again, but this time to let the young maiden in. “But quickly. I do not wish to anger my host.”

You’re quickly dressed in a simple garb, yet gleamed at the seams as though the yarn themselves were laced with gold and it was nearly blinding to look down at yourself. It seemed pompous to your taste, but you bit your tongue as she ties a sash around your waist which only seemed to accentuate your curves rather than protect them like your other clothes did.

Suddenly, you’re hastily taken to this grand hall where people awaited your presence. You were led to the lead table where the sons of Odin, the Allfather, and his elegant wife sat. You sat at the guests’ seat at the end of the table, but closest to the golden-haired son who greeted you with a grin, though he reeked of booze.

Food was passed around and a large platter of meet attached to a boar’s foot appeared before you. Your nose wrinkled at the smell of the flesh, your stomach churning. Your eyes were glued to the charred hoof and immediately thought of the many lands that hoof will never travel now.

“You do not wish to eat?” Thor asks, but with his deep voice it seemed more intimidating than initially intended. Before you could answer, Freyja does so.

“Her people do not kill creatures for sustenance,” she replies quietly, as though she were telling a secret. Quickly, she waves servants and they realize their mistake too late as the smell of the cooked flesh burnt your nostrils and they replaced your plate with another, offering a basket of milk bread and plump fruit instead.

You gracefully take a piece of what looked like a grape before popping it into your mouth. There were little seeds that did not bother you and the flesh of the fruit burst into a mouthful of juice. It was absolutely delicious, but you still preferred the berries that grew in front of your window.

Thor seemed to keep his eye on you before laughing at a joke that was said at a table before him. You try not to jump, startled at his sudden guffaw. You finally look up from your plate in time to see Loki’s head snap away from your direction. You knew it was only natural to be curious, but their behavior was much too odd.

Loki did not approach you but you were acutely aware of his stealing glances. Whatever the god of mischief may be planning, you were mentally preparing to defend yourself. Thor, on the other hand, was the loud one. Commonfolk and wealthy merchants alike stopped by to offer words or simply an exchange of stories of their week. It was a strange custom to you; oftentimes your people were private and did not indulge in the luxury of gossiping about their days.

As servants offer you a drink, you were surprised to see that Thor had taken the cask from their hands only to lean and offer it to you.

“It would be an honor to pour the first glad for our guest,” he smiles. It’s charming, nonetheless, but you simply hold up your goblet and he pours for you. You could feel jealous eyes burning on your skin as he does so, reaching out to steady your hand in one of his large ones before pouring.

His skin is hot, his hands calloused. A hand of a fighter. A hand of a worthy king.

He pulls away and watches as servants offers you more fruit and lentils. You tilt the goblet back to taste the honey-sweet mead that slipped past your lips. The one thing that Asgard does better than your homeland was how delicious their mead was. Of course, that’s something you would never say to your father’s face. The thought of it brings a ghost of a smile to your lips.

Thor notices, but doesn’t mention it. His smile simply widens and it reaches his eyes, the corners crinkling with joy as he fills his own goblet to drink. There’s some more small talk amongst the table, but for the most part, you keep to yourself.

An hour, perhaps two, passed.

You continued to eat in silence as Thor did most of the entertaining with guests. Even the steamed vegetables were well-seasoned and nobody made the same mistake twice of serving you the flesh of the dead. Just thinking about the scorched hoof made you shudder to think of the many tendons and veins underneath that had been cooked dry. It’s nearly enough to lose your appetite and use this as a catalyst to leave. If they ask, you may simply say that you are exhausted from travel. Besides, enough time had passed for people to sift out of the dining hall. Nobody would catch you leaving.

With that, you get up to leave. You were pleased to be met with little to no resistance as you escape quietly from the back where you’ve seen some servants slip in and out of for the past hour.

On your way back, you hear footsteps come at you with wide strides. They are much too heavy for it to be Mishka’s; despite being in armor, the man was surprisingly light on his feet. When these unfamiliar steps approach you with such haste, you reach to your hip where you had hidden a knife.

The knife’s handle was warm to the touch from being tucked so close to your body, but the hand that grabbed your wrist to stop your attack was warmer. It twisted you around and you try to fight back, but you were pressed against the wall with finger pressed against your lip to shush you. Despite the lack of force, the finger effectively silenced you as you look up at your perpetrator.

Green eyes meet yours, dark and dangerous. Your eyes narrow with confusion as the god of mischief stood before you, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“My father told me all about your arrangement,” he speaks in a low voice, almost a hushed growl that sent an odd feeling of excitement flutter in your stomach. You try to excuse it of the new herbs and spices they used on your food was unfamiliar to your stomach and it is now just digesting it.

You rip his finger away from your mouth and you give him a defiant glare. He seemed to like it as his eyes drifted down to your lips that were tugged in a frown before meeting back up with your eyes.

“I am here upon both of our father’s _arrangement_ ,” you snarl back, but matching his tone of keeping it down to avoid prying eyes. “To join our worlds to prevent an outbreak of power-grabbing by greedy hands.” At the word “greedy”, you eyes drift down just for them to flit back up, sizing him up. He must’ve taken it as a flirt instead and his arrogant smirk grows.

“And how do you think our worlds would be joined?” He nearly purrs. You couldn’t tell if you should be revolted or find it charming. Either way, it was nauseating.

He knew what you meant. You knew what he meant.

He just wanted to hear you say it.

Arrogant.

“Matrimony,” you reply boldly.

“Exactly,” he flashes his teeth, though his eyes don’t smile with it. The praise meant nothing to you. “You and me, we’re outsiders. I know what it’s like to rule, to lose, to win. Your power with mine? We shall be unstoppable upon the throne.”

“You are babbling about nothing,” you growl, snapping a firm hand against his elbow. It gives, but he uses the momentum to try and grab you back. “Besides, I think we both know whom I choose to be my king.”

Loki’s arrogant smirk is gone in an instant and you flick your wrist to push him away. There’s a quick tussle of deflecting each other: left arm, right arm, left, left, right, and you gain the upper hand for the fraction of a millisecond, flicking your wrist again to make contact with his chin.

Caught off-guard, Loki staggers back. You quickly walk around him and to your luck, servants began filing out to help with the preparations to wind down for the evening, many lighting the candles and others drawing the curtains on the sunset. He doesn’t pursue you as you quickly make your way back to your room, rage seething from his body at the mention of you choosing his brother of him.

What a stressful day. You needed a reliever.

* * *

Loki saw Thor pacing in the alcove near where she had retired for the evening. He clutched what looked like a bouquet of wilting flowers from their mother’s garden, muttering to himself.

“I thought some...flowers would lighten up the room a little,” Thor says. He sounds breathless, as though he’d been talking for a long time. “No...I wondered if we could talk more about our arrangement? Though, it doesn’t have to be an arrangement it could be much more pleasurable—no, fun? No...”

“You wish to seduce her with a handful of weeds?”

Thor whips around, startled, before sighing.

“It’s you, Brother,” he groans. “I do not wish for a quarrel.”

“I didn’t say I was here for a quarrel,” he says. “I’m here to tell you that you did terrible during the feast tonight.”

Thor looks more stunned than angry, but the anger settles as his brows furrow when he processes what he heard.

“Pardon me,” Thor growls. “I was entertaining our guests.”

“But not her,” Loki chastises as though he were speaking to a child. “You sat closest to her and yet you didn’t even realize that the servants served someone who doesn’t eat meat a slab of boar’s leg. Her face had turned so pale it nearly made me sick. I would have been a better host.”

“How so?” Thor defends. “Besides how was it my responsibility to correct a servant’s mistake? They happen.”

“It is more of the fact you did not notice the person you’re trying to convince to marry you turn ashen at the presence of certain foods,” his brother responds, circling him. “How could you rule alongside someone if you cannot even see her dislikes? How would you bestow punishment amongst the convicted without realizing your wife’s distaste to your choices?”

Loki snatches the flowers from Thor’s grasp, magic surging in his hand and the limp stems immediately straighten and the flowers bloom once more in his hand. The larger brother simply glowers, his shoulders huffing as he exhales aggressively. He realizes his mistake, but he hated that it was Loki who was pointing it out to him like his mother.

“My turn,” he grins as he leaves his brother in the alcove, only to toss the flowers at his feet and they wilted even faster, browning at Thor’s boots as he takes long strides down the hall to her door. Thor doesn’t bother following him, but his heavy footsteps are heard stomping off in the opposite direction. He should be afraid of what his golden-haired brother had planned.

Loki mouths words to himself, figuring out which one would be the most seductive. He shall only ask for her presence and show her his magic. He would prove to her that his power and magic was worthy of her affection, therefore a more powerful couple to rule the throne. Though he must agree that Thor had brute strength, but he believed his cunning was much more valuable to ruling a land.

Yes. He should tell her just that.

But upon arriving at her door, he realized that the door was every so slightly ajar. Noises came from inside and for a moment, he thought she was dreaming. Then, it falls silent. He leans toward the crack and is tempted to use magic to wake her or perhaps give her sweeter dreams. However, another, happier sigh escapes her delicate lips.

That’s when it hits him just as his eye adjusts to the darkness in the room.

It is the sigh of a pleasured woman.

From his angle and the canopy draping over the bed, he could only see a pair of beautiful legs at the edge of the bed to the curve of a butt before being hidden behind the cloth. A naked man rested between them, his head bobbing as his mouth made lewd sounds as it made contact. His curly hair bounced with the movement and Loki spotted the gleam of armor hastily discarded at the door. He wondered if she had sent off her guard to settle for one of their servants. He must admit, Asgardians, commonfolk or royalty, did often take pride in the ability to pleasure their partners. Despite knowing this, despite knowing he could just as easily get someone to warm his bed, his stomach began to roll uncomfortably.

“Oh, oh, Mishka,” he could hear her voice. There was no denying who it was and he could only imagine his own name rolling off of her tongue so sweetly.

That’s when the head rose from between the legs and there’s a gleam across his face. His head snaps to the door and Loki caught the glimpse of liquid silver eyes shining oddly in the dark before quickly leaving, knowing that he was caught peeking. If it was a servant, they wouldn’t dare say anything to her. In fact, they may grovel at his feet to forgive them for performing such intimate acts on the potential queen of Asgard.

As he hastily makes his way back to his room, he felt the heat of his arousal growing as he heard her voice again and again, sighing his name instead.

But what concerned him was not the arousal; anyone who had come across a scene like that is bound to feel something.

No, it’s not that. That was simple, easy, even natural.

What concerned Loki was the blooming jealousy in his chest.

He will have to mull it over after he relieves himself. Right now, he couldn’t stop replaying that in his mind and that heat in his stomach had to be released.

Tomorrow, he will figure out who this Mishka servant was and get rid of him. He wanted to see him grovel.


	2. Hunters and Gatherers Aren’t So Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The warrior princess agrees to let Thor come with her to gather some fruits for her morning tea and she gets more than she bargained for. Loki finds out who this Mishka was and learns more about her people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of smutty moments in this one, but there’s tension ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Heavy footsteps close in on you just as you’re making it out to the yard, pulling up the hood of your wolf skin so that the snout of the wolf protected your forehead and offered shade.

“Where are you headed to my lady?” Thor’s voice doesn’t stop you as you pick up your pace.

“Thank you,” you mutter under your breath. “For your warm pelt and protecting me even in death.”

“Who are you speaking with?”

Annoyed, your feet tramples in mud to make a point to splash some onto the prince’s boots. He doesn’t seem to mind as he keeps following.

“My guardian,” you simply reply and you make your way through the gates of the palace and through the narrow streets of the city.

“Can I come?”

You whip around only for Thor to suddenly stagger to a stop, his chest bumping into yours as you look up at him with a defiant glare. His mouth slightly opens in a retort but no words come out. He seemed lost in your eyes and unsure how to react with your breastplate pressed against him. For you, it was a sign of force and standing your ground. For him, he wanted to feel you without the armor.

“You may,” you finally say. “Not many stand their ground before me just to ask to come grab berries to sweeten my tea.”

“You’re...seeking berries?” Your answer seemed to confuse him. “We have all of the fruits and berries you could want at the palace. A simple command and—“

“You do not harvest these,” you reply, leading him to the lush forest that surrounded the city. “The berries rot quickly after being removed from the stem and they need to be eaten quickly. If they were harvested for the palace they would be mush by the time they got to the gates.”

“How do you intend on consuming such a finicky fruit then?”

You reach into your cloak where a canister rested at your hip. It was warm to the touch as you lifted it briefly to show your noisy companion.

“It’s lined with the bark of a fire tree from my home,” you explain. “Warm liquids in here stay warm.”

You take a sharp turn and Thor stumbles on a root trying to catch up. Your linen-wrapped feet offer you dexterity that his boots would not offer him. As your toes are able to curl over roots and leap off of them, he’s trudging through like a giant infant and the sound of his boots crunching on every little leaf and branch was starting to drive you crazy.

“You intend to dine out in the wild,” he says not as a berating question but out of amusement. You pause to look over your shoulder to see the hulking man out of breath. You don’t realize until now that you often didn’t take the conventional path, but his eyes were determined and his features were relaxed; he wanted to know more about you.

“Yes,” you simply reply before finding a wiry tree beside you. You look up to see a cluster of small berries at the base of its branches.

With little hesitation, you leap onto the tree. It’s so wide that you can’t even wrap your legs around each side for a good grip. Instead, you reach into your pouch to pull out large claws that were fashioned to fit over the fingers like gloves that stopped at the knuckles. Now, with the bones of an animal wrapped around your hands, you had an extension of strong nails.

Thor watches with amusement as you use those claws to leap back onto the tree and climb up with ease. He quickly diverted his eyes when he realized he could see up your armored skirt even though you wore breeches underneath to prevent chafing. He clears his throat to get the image out of his mind.

“Is there a way I can help?” He shouts up at the tree and you groan, reaching for the berries before testing them between your fingers.

“A white flower with pink streaks,” you reply without thinking he would take you literally.

“There are plenty of white flowers with pink streaks at the base of the tree,” he replies. 

He had to be joking. He had to know the native plants of his land. Nobody is that stupid.

“They’re the ones that taste like honey,” you retort, annoyed, pressing on a couple of other berries. One gives way just right and you pluck it. Immediately, you grab a few more before sliding down the tree. 

When you turn around, you didn’t expect to have seen him actually put a petal in his mouth.

Thor was on his knees, rasping for breath with a hand stabilizing him against the ground and the other at his throat.

“You’re a fool!” You shriek before rushing to him, taking off your claws and shoving them back into the pouch as you approach him.

Without hesitation, you tilt his head back and his desperate eyes meet yours. His eyes widen as your fingers dip into his mouth and fish out the petals. You throw the soggy petals from his saliva to the ground before reaching into your pouch again. He’s still gasping as he watches you pull out a small vial with clear liquid that looked like water, but the way it swirled in the vial defied the physics of water. It was more dense, thicker, and almost magnetic.

Despite him being on his knees, his head still came up to your chest as you stood over him, tilting his head back and looking at his lips now swollen from the poison. It was going to be difficult to get all of the liquid into his mouth without the risk of spilling it all over his chin.

“Hold still, prince,” your voice was soft, almost soothing to Thor’s ears.

He watches with shock, his breath shuddering to get past his swollen throat and lips as you pop the cork of the vial and toss the liquid into your mouth. He wanted to fight for it, he wanted to argue that he should be the one to drink it.

Suddenly, your lips are upon his and he’s stunned. His eyes remain widened as he’s completely frozen. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic kiss; it was against his swollen lips and your mouth was so small compared to his. Your lips parted and the strange liquid poured through between them. Not a drop was missed as your tongue pushed out the remaining liquid and into his. The moment the bitter liquid hit his tongue and throat, the swelling almost immediately died down. Air rushed through his flared nostrils with relief as his air passages reopened.

He tried not to make a noise as you pulled away just as quickly as you pressed against him. He watches with astonishment and baffled as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, recork the vial, and look at the berries you had discarded onto the ground.

He expected you to complain, just like any of the other noblewomen that he had tried courting before but you don’t say a word. Instead, you put your bone claws back on and climb back up the tree to retrieve more berries. He’s still stunned as you get down to hand him a few of the berries.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the tingling in his lips fading as the antidote you gave settled in his system.

Your eyes briefly dart up to meet his as though you weren’t expecting thanks. For the first time, he sees a smile flit away at your lips. If he blinked, he would’ve missed it. You squeeze the berries at the mouth of your canister before speaking.

“You’re a fool to have eaten Pink Widows,” you say, but you’re kind enough to hand the canister to him for the first sip. He stands up now that he wasn’t incapacitated and takes the canister. He tilts it back and was pleasantly surprised that the liquid inside was still rather warm.

“What kind of prince doesn’t know his land?”

This catches his attention before letting out a hefty laugh, handing you the canister back. You tilt it back to taste the sweet berries counter the bitter tea inside. It’s exactly what you needed this morning.

“What kind of maiden kisses a prince without permission?”

Your eyes snap to his, glaring at him and he raises his hands. His smile doesn’t fade and you immediately knew he was teasing.

Instead of raging anger, you begin to laugh.

“Oh if you told me you were the trickster god, I would’ve believed you,” you grin and Thor couldn’t help but smile back.

“Come,” Thor offers his arm to lead the way. You stare at him for a moment before he raises a brow. “Humor me.”

With another moment’s of hesitation you laugh and take his arm. It’s large and beefy and your hand completely disappears in the crook of his arm. You could barely see your fingertips.

“Only because I don’t want you eating any more poisonous flowers,” you retort, but you try to ignore the swell of his bicep met the curve of his forearm. “And I’m out of antidote.”

“You could kiss it from me again,” Thor teases and you punch his arm, though your fist bounced off harmlessly.

“You know it was not a kiss,” you sigh.

But your trek back was filled with more friendly banter and you could see yourself with this prince. He was big and kind, though not always brilliant. You could trust him, though there was a darkness in him you could sense. Hopefully it was something that was manageable.

* * *

Loki stalked the halls, every once in a while stopping a male servant to see his eyes. A young maiden eyes him as he speeds by, subconsciously arching her back for attention. It catches his eye, but he doesn’t stop to flirt.

Instead, the God of Mischief grabs her shoulders and looks her in the eyes. Her face flushes, flabbergasted, and immediately embarrassed by his presence. Oh, how he missed this. How he made women shiver by his presence, loving how they would squirm under his gaze.

But the warrior princess. She was different. She didn’t shudder. She stood her ground. _She glared back._ And it drove him crazy.

“Where is the servant with silver eyes called Mishka?” He growls. She shudders in his hands.

“I-I have never heard that name before,” she squeaks. A blush grows darker on her cheeks as he leans in closer to see if she was lying. When he realized she was telling the truth, she staggers back as he pushes her away and wishes to continue his search.

As she staggers back, an armored hand stabilizes her. Loki sizes up the man: he is tall, covered head to toe in armor with symbols down his arms that he could only assume were protection charms of their people. He lifts his head and his steely gaze meets Loki’s—the liquid silver of his eyes bore deeply into his, unlike any commoner he had met.

“No commoner would meet my gaze without permission,” Loki threatens, jealously creeping back into his stomach. Gods, he hated how he was feeling like this. But right now, he needed answers.

The armored man ignores him as he reassures the maiden before she blushes again and scurries off after a quick exchange of thank-yous. He stands up straight again and Loki realizes that he is about the same height as he, his silver eyes unnaturally shining.

“You are asking around for me,” he speaks before hitting a fist to his chest and bowing. “I am Mishka of Veshuva. How may I be of service?”

“I have some questions to ask you,” Loki says, but peers around to see the busy servants cleaning and going on with their day. “But not here. Come.”

Mishka glances around for any signs for his princess before following him silently. He’s taken down a corridor before turning into what looked like an old war room before they moved it to the main chambers closer to the king’s throne. It was cleaned out of everything save for the large table where they must have had their meetings. Loki closes the door behind them before sighing.

“Do you know why I was looking for you?” Loki speaks slowly, trying to sound more authoritative.

“You spied on my lady while I was fulfilling her desires,” Mishka replies simply, as though he was talking about the weather rather than something so intimate.

Loki is taken aback and is silent for a moment. He then lets out a chuckle as he folds his hands behind his back, circling the armored man.

“Who are you, really?” Loki demands. “If you know she’s here for marriage, then why lay with her in the home of her future husband?”

“You are insinuating we have copulated,” Mishka’s accented voice fills the room. “But I may assure you that milady is a maiden. She has never taken a man to bed.”

“You’re lying after you just admitted to sleeping with her?” Loki scoffs and barks a laugh. “I should warn you that I do not take well to liars.”

“If you were truly the trickster god, you would know I am not lying,” the other man replies with such aloofness that Loki was unsure if they were talking about the same thing.

“I am called to serve milady in any means possible,” Mishka explains. “I am to protect her, to be the first to be in her defense, and if she wishes, to please her after a stressful day such as yesterday.”

Loki thinks on his words for a moment before slowing his pace until he comes to a complete stop. Their customs must be different. And if Mishka was telling the truth, she had not lain with anyone but simply relieving a desire. For some reason, this brought comfort to his roiling jealousy in the pit of his stomach. Though he still wasn’t a fan of another man laying between her legs, with his cock or with his tongue, he wanted it to be him.

“She is intoxicating,” Mishka suddenly speaks out of turn, making Loki’s eyes snap back up to the other man. “I see how you look at her. She is not like other women. She is powerful, strong, and stubborn. She doesn’t fall for whims or charms and she can fight a war. But she can also survive and care for her people. This adds to her beauty, does it not?”

He didn’t know if Mishka was testing him or if he was trying to help him.

“I have only known her a day,” Loki retorts carefully. “My intention is to wed her before my brother does because I believe we would be a more powerful ally than my oaf of a brother.”

“It is more,” Mishka says boldly.

“Watch your tongue in the presence of a prince,” Loki snaps.

“You are not my prince.”

Silence befalls them as the two men stare each other down. Loki releases his hands from behind his back with a heavy exhale before leaning onto the war table, looking at the oak finish as though he was looking at a map with a plan in mind.

“So how do you suppose I win her over?” Loki finally says defeatedly. “I am not an easy man to please.”

“Perhaps it is her you will need to please,” Mishka stands tall, not breaking his eye contact with the trickster god before him. “She prefers tea with berries rather than black coffee.”

“How will that help me win over a warrior princess?” Loki sneers. Mishka doesn’t respond, only breaking his gaze on him to move to the door. Loki barks out a command for him to stay, but his hand is already on the handle.

“You are thinking too deeply,” he replies. “You don’t _win_ anyone.”

The door closes behind him despite Loki’s demands and he slams his fist on the table.

Her people are the must stubborn and disobedient of their kind he had ever seen.

That’s when he looks out the window to see her walking arm-in-hand with Thor, the two laughing as a couple. The jealously came back, churning in his stomach harder and harsher than before. His fists clench angrily as he storms out.

He stops the two as they enter the building, her smile fading from her lips and Thor’s widening with pride, as though to say _”I’m winning_ ”. She pulls his hand out of his arm as she stares Loki down defiantly.

“May I escort you back to your room?” Loki offers, half-bowing without lowering his head too low and his steely gaze never leaves hers.

“I can walk myself,” you reply, but Loki then offered his own arm. You look back up at Thor before he sighs and takes your hand. He briefly places the back of your hand gently against his lips. The brush of his beard against your bare hands sends a shudder down your spine; a shudder Loki did not fail to notice.

You take Loki’s offered arm as you look over your shoulder at Thor, who gives you a smile before turning on his heel to continue his daily duties in the palace.

Loki’s arm was much more different than Thor’s. It’s thinner, yet you could still feel the muscle underneath. Your hands wrap comfortably around the crook of his forearm and bicep, though it was more comforting than being swallowed up like it did with Thor.

When you make it to your room, you realize that Mishka is not there to greet you. Instead, as the door opens, Loki jerks his arm out of yours and shoves you inside. You let out a yelp as he slams the door behind you.

Your eyes whisk around the room, looking for Mishka. Where was he? Had Loki done something to him.

That’s when a hand grabs your shoulder and shoves you against the wall, knocking your wolfskin off your head so it hung like a cape over your shoulders. You look up at Loki as he towers over you, pinning you against the wall with both his weight and his height. He’s so close his nose was a blur in your vision and you were forced to focus in on his eyes.

“I think you should choose me and not him,” he finally says, his breath hot on your face. His face dips down to your neck and your breath hitches; this is the closest a man has gotten to you so intimately.

Yours and Mishka’s intimate times were mainly just touching; nothing truly intimate or romantic. Just an arms distance away of touching and feeling and pleasure, which was probably why his mouth often ended up on the other end of you rather than yours lips. So feeling Loki’s breath so close to you, his lips hesitating over your throat was much more exciting than you’d wanted.

Instead of kissing you, his nose dips to your throat and you feel his body expand as he inhales deeply. He lets it out with a groan.

“You don’t smell much like him,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours as he tilts his head closer. “I would’ve thought you’d given into his every whim by now.”

“We were playing hunters and gatherers,” you reply coyly.

“Oh that smart mouth of yours,” Loki purrs and his mouth is suddenly on yours.

Now, you knew how Thor must have felt. Caught off-guard, heart pumping as Loki slowly presses himself onto you. His lips coaxed yours into kissing him back and instinctively you follow. His tongue slips out to lick your bottom lip and your mouth parts, granting him access as his head tilts further to deepen the kiss. One hand is above your head where he stabilized his weight and kept you pinned. The other wandered from your shoulder to your face, cradling your cheek as he gently moved your head to work with him, to force you to kiss him the way he wanted it.

You couldn’t pull away; your head was pressed against the wall. But you jerk your head to the side and your lips separate with a pop, which left a rush of blood rise up to your face. Loki takes this as an invitation and begins kissing down the side of your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing the skin. His hips rock against yours and you could feel something hardening under the pressure.

Startled, you shove him away and he lets you, staggering back with a cocky smirk and wiping his lips of your combined saliva.

“What are you doing!” You finally gasp.

“I felt no protest while I was doing it,” he replied with a smug look on his face. “Deep down, you know we’re meant to be together. Deep down, you know that your people and my cunning charms would lead _our_ worlds to greatness. It helps to have such a voluptuous body as well.”

“I am just here to unite our planets to avoid a war!” You snap. “I am tired of these petty games between you and your brother like this is a bloody game!”

That’s when it hit Loki. What Mishka had said about there is no “winning” someone.

“I am not here to win you like a pawn from a chess board,” he finally says, his voice lowered and calmer. Your eyes dart up to meet his, calmer yet confused.

He stretches out a hand, his brows scrunched and his emerald eyes trying to read yours.

“I have never met a woman I could not read,” he admits softly. “I want you to choose me, because I want to learn more about you. I know what it’s like to rule and I know what it’s like to be an outsider, to be betrayed and to find comfort. With all of the uncertainty, I want you by my side.”

You stare at his hand again before looking back at the door.

...


End file.
